


from ash and dust (we will rise again)

by hypatheticallyspeaking



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post-Season/Series 02 AU, it's happy i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 17:35:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4109293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypatheticallyspeaking/pseuds/hypatheticallyspeaking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His involuntary glance back towards Clarke causes him to realize one thing. <br/>He is in love with Clarke Griffin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	from ash and dust (we will rise again)

**Author's Note:**

> a prompt from krispy-rice on tumblr:   
> "Can you write a Bellarke story post 2x16 where Clarke never left and the 47 + Bellamy & Clarke go back to live at the drop ship bc it's home?"   
> Thanks to castielscrusade for betaing!!

 

His feet are sore, but he doesn’t complain about it. He shoulders the rifle against his shoulder, continuing forward through the forest. The light has started to fade, and he knows it’s been a long time since they’ve trekked this far through grounder territory. Technically, Abby and Kane negotiated a truce with the Trikru, but after what they pulled at Mount Weather, Bellamy trusts them about as far as he can throw them--so not much at all.

The smell of ash mixes with the previous day’s rain, and he can tell that they’re close. It’s a clearing in the distance, and the beams of light shine like a beacon welcoming them back. Octavia rushes forward, past where the gates had once been. Lincoln follows behind her, scanning for any sign of grounders. Octavia whirls around, braided hair fanning out around her.

“We’re back,” she declares, her excitement muted in comparison to when she’d first touched the earth. After readjusting her sword on her back, she presses forward through the charred dirt as she reaches the dropship. There’s a murmur of agreement in the crowd of former delinquents and scattered parents. Monty is the first of the Sky People to follow the younger Blake, searching for items that survived the dropship’s searing fire; it’s the first time he’s seen the dropship since before the war with the grounders.

Even Bellamy can tell it’s different than before. It isn’t the scattered bones of grounders, the lack of tents, or even the charred ashes that still haven’t faded and mixed with the soil. It’s the fact that too many people, too many children are gone. He doesn’t want to think about how many lives were lost, but it’s like he can feel them as ghosts, lingering and watching them in the ash and dust. The first thing he thinks about is the fact that they’ll have to reconstruct the walls around the dropship. He sees Clarke in the distance, starting a fire with dried wood where it used to be. They don’t have any meat to smoke, so that’s another thing to do.

He thought that leaving the Ark, leaving Camp Jaha, would give them an escape and a sense of freedom. But he’d forgotten that they were surviving at the dropship, not necessarily living. But some of the delinquents wanted to stay, including Raven and Jasper. Their intelligence is going to be sorely missed, he thinks bitterly. Raven was like a den mother to the delinquents, and Jasper was always so lighthearted, despite everything. In their place, he got Miller’s dad, a few members of the guard, and a couple other parents who are desperate not to be separated from their children in the dangerous world. From the looks of it, they’ll be a welcome help.

The others wander around, wondering what to do, and he deposits his equipment on the ground where his tent used to be. The delinquents follow suit, returning to where their makeshift tents had been, returning to where they had been comfortable. The adults stand quietly, unsure of where to put their bags. Miller’s dad leaves his bag near his son’s, and after a second the other parents do the same.

“Choose a spot to pitch a tent,” Bellamy tells the remaining adults--members of the guard, he notes, “Then I’m taking a group hunting, and Miller, get a group to collect wood and fallen trees. We’re going to need a fire and to start rebuilding defenses.”

“And I’m going to take a group out for medicinal herbs. The art supply store is on the way out--I’ll stop there too and see what’s left.” Clarke’s voice is rough from the journey; she let others use her water early-on in the trek. “I’ll need Monty as a second pair of eyes and Monroe for defense. Maybe someone else who’s good with a gun too,” she continues. It’s been weeks since Mount Weather, since she’s given an order, and it surprises Bellamy how much relief it gives him to hear her in charge again. She makes eye contact with him as she continues delegating orders, managing to smile at him.

There’s a warm feeling in his chest, blossoming where the worry settled, and he has a feeling that everything is going to be all right.

 

By the end of the week, temperatures are beginning to drop, and he knows winter is approaching. It’s been a looming threat since before the Ark crashed to earth, but now it’s the most important thing on his mind. It’s in the air; the crispness that used to come when a heating system needed to be repaired is now reflected in the scentless air and the occasional angry huff of crystalline breath. The sky is clear at least, and he’s grateful that they don’t have to worry about snow or frost just yet.

“Hey,” he greets his co-leader, holding out a glass of moonshine. The adults (although nearly half of the remaining delinquents have passed their eighteenth birthday by now) still don’t approve of their alcohol consumption, but they’re more-or-less turning a blind eye.

She glances up from the now-dried medicinal herbs she’s organizing and stowing for the inevitable winter chill. Clarke takes the metal tin from his hand with a smile. “Hey. And thanks.” Her hands are chilly, bitter cold, despite the fact that she doesn’t spend as much time outside of the dropship as she wants. He makes a mental note to get her some extra gloves or something because he can’t afford for her to get sick.

“We need to start building cabins. Or some kind of more stable residence. The drop ship can’t hold everyone, and there’s no way the tents will last much longer.”

She sips at the moonshine, her blue eyes reflecting her current thoughts. Lifting her lips from her drink, she agrees, saying, “Cabins would be the best bet--we already made the shack for smoking meat again... If we just fill in the gaps and leave room for an air vent, it’d work.” A draft passes through the dropship’s open doors, causing the parachute-door to ripple like a banner. “Sooner’s better than later.”

He nods in agreement, resting his back against a metal wall. “I’ll tell the guard to get working on it.” Common sense tells him that the conversation’s over, but he watches her curiously. There’s something different about her, more reluctant to open up to people. He supposes that leaving Raven and Jasper back at the Ark didn’t help much either. The words are out of his mouth before he has a second to think about why it’s so important for him to know. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine, Bellamy,” she says, and he can hear her building up walls in that one statement. “You never talked much about Mount Weather,” Clarke points out, and he realizes that the only way to get answers is to trade.

“You never talked about your negotiations with the Grounders,” he replies evenly, tipping back his own glass of moonshine (Monty has perfected its near-battery acid quality). Sure, he’s heard everything that Mr. Miller told him, and the stories Abby and Kane were reluctant to tell.

“Nobody ever asked.”

He opens his mouth to defend that he did that he asked, that she was off hiding from everyone, but he curbs his tongue. Words have been instrumental to them getting this far, but also words have brought them to the verge of war on more than one occasion. “I’m asking now.”

She glances down at her now-empty glass. “I have a feeling we’ll need more moonshine.”

“Monty just finished making a new batch. I’ll be right back.”

He ducks out of the dropship, quietly weaving through the mostly-asleep camp. The walls are stronger and more efficient than before, although they’re smaller too. He takes a full canteen worth of moonshine from Monty’s supposedly well-hidden stock before returning to the dropship. He hasn’t had too much to drink over the past month, and he’s honestly looking forward to it.

He holds the canteen out to her as she takes a seat on one of the hammocks. He sits next to her, and he’s not even worried about whether or not their combined weight will send them toppling to the dropship floor again. Clarke returns the canteen to him, and he takes a smaller drink than she did--he wants to remember this conversation.

“So,” she begins in a voice that’s raspy from a mixture of exhaustion, relief, and moonshine, “Let’s talk.”

 

By the time the first snow falls, cascading down to the ashen earth like a blanket, they have nearly all of the cabins built. The importance of shelter hasn’t escaped the minds of the other people around them, and Bellamy’s relieved that they managed to construct enough cabins to survive the winter months. They’ve opened up trade with the Grounders, exchanging pelts and other gathered items for winter equipment, weapons, and blankets.

Clarke ends up staying with him throughout the winter; she didn’t want to stay alone in the dropship, and his plan to split the cabin with Octavia fell through when Lincoln asked to share his. He doesn’t mind Clarke’s presence, and it really amazes him that he wanted to get rid of her at his earliest convenience. They fall into their old rhythms, from before the war with the Grounders. They still fight, still argue. But at the end of the day they understand each other, and it’s a semblance of peace that he’s so happy he was able to maintain.

It’s easier, she had explained to her mother. They already make decisions together, and it’s simpler if they’re in the same place so that people aren’t trudging through ice and snow trying to find one of them.

He doesn’t argue with her logic.

Their shared cabin is the last to be completed. The others wanted it to be done first, a testament about how much they’ve done to support the family around them, but they refused. He’s certain that it is their own self-inflicted punishment, their belief that they don’t deserve kindness after all that they’ve done. It seems worth it, after nights of temperatures below freezing and wind seeping through the cracks between the cabin walls.

The dark heartwood is covered in sap and Clarke’s unintentional drawings as they filled in the crevices. It’s pictures of the children they’ve lost, starting with the two boys from the dropship and Wells, and ending with Maya, Fox, and the others who died at Mount Weather. She had said that she couldn't look at the faces of the living, but he can tell she has found solace in the memories of those who no longer are fighting to survive.

Bellamy finds his place at her side. Octavia is still his priority, but the once-defenseless girl has metamorphosed into a warrior who knows what she wants and how to take care of herself. Instead, he swaps stories with the dropship's princess in the dead of night as the fire's crackling embers emit their last waves of warmth.

 

Realization comes slowly, creeping like the springtime warmth. Clarke smiles more, and he relaxes. Tensions with the Ark have faded entirely, and they've finally got a good trade system going with the Trikru. Over the winter, they've moved their cots closer together, for warmth, but he finds himself having trouble falling asleep when Clarke is visiting her mother and Raven. Eventually he does, only to wake up suddenly when he rolls over to face an empty cot. There's a fleeting moment of panic, of sheer terror that she is gone.

Since when has he been so dependent on her presence?

She returns from Camp Jaha the following day, carrying bandages and other important equipment from the Ark. There’s a slight limp to her walk, which she later explains is a result of not watching where she was going. The others usher her around the fire to ask what’s been going on at their former camp, and she obliges, her voice rising and falling as she shares the silly things with a light in her eyes that he rarely sees from her. They make eye contact for a split second, and it’s like the world has frozen and they’re holding a million conversations in that one moment.

It’s no longer about survival, he realizes. They aren’t surviving. They’re living.

 

The early morning frosts have ceased, changing from bitter cold to warm sunshine. The trees, once barren, are growing leaves that seem to absorb and reflect the sun’s rays. Everyone spends their time working, mending the small things that have broken over the winter: the creaking gates to the camp, the dropship has a non-functional door, the smokehouse is too small for the amount of food they are bringing in. The flowers are beginning to bloom, their iridescent and radioactive beauty only contradicted by the number of springtime allergies that arise.

Bellamy is one of the worst, second only to his sister. The Blake siblings argue that they’re fine, that their eyes aren’t running and that their voices aren’t growing hoarse as a result of the yellow pollen that coats everything. Clarke refuses to let them leave camp until their symptoms have decreased, and it’s more difficult than he imagined. On the bright side, Octavia is finally smiling again--it took a long time for her to forgive Clarke's actions before and during Mount Weather. But she’s smiling again, almost back to the free-spirited, stubborn, resilient sister that he will love no matter what.

“Hey, Big Brother,” she says through a stuffy nose and scratchy throat.

She’s been invaluable to reconstructing the camp, but it seems like she’s drifting. “You okay?” He barely manages to avoid finishing his sentence in a sneeze.

“My head feels like it’s repressurizing. So not really.” There’s a smile on her face.

“Clarke says that the allergies shouldn’t last much--” he wrinkles his nose, unable to avoid the sneeze. “--much longer.” He rubs at his eyes with his forearm; it isn’t coated in pollen like all the cloth. “I really hope that’s true.”

There’s a knowing look in her eyes, and he’s not sure why she’s looking at him like that. Pulling her into a hug, Bellamy realizes that he doesn’t care. He’s glad to have his sister back--even if she is practically attached to Lincoln at the hip. Octavia rests her hand on the back of his head while they’re hugging--like he always would do whenever she wasn’t feeling well on the Ark. Together, they’re a mess of stuffy noses and reddened eyes.

But he’s always stronger when he has his sister.

 

They’re visited by the Ice Clan, by the woman who he met back in Mount Weather. She reintroduces herself as Echo, the liaison from the north. It takes him a few minutes to recognize her in full grounder gear, braids, and war paint. She requests an audience with the leaders of the Sky People, and Clarke agrees to it with some hesitation (after all, their last attempt at an alliance backfired despite it being the best overall choice). He welcomes her and her second into his and Clarke’s cabin.

Echo’s second is a young boy, judging by his lack of facial hair. There’s a swirling tattoo on his shoulders that’s only noticeable as they lower the furs from their shoulders. Clarke breaks the tension in the room with a question about the pattern, noting that the same black pattern covers Echo’s shoulders as well. The boy answers slowly, cautious about the infamous sky people.

Echo opens the actual delegations with a request for peace, saying that she owes a blood debt. Juskof, she adds after a second, using the better-known grounder language. That although they are at war with the Trikru, the Ice Nation will not harm the Sky People outside of battle. Clarke nods in confusion and thankfulness. He knows that it’s been a long time since they’ve had major battle wounds, and he’s certain that the prospect of fewer deaths is one that everyone appreciates.

“Thank you,” he replies with the same emotion as when Echo saved his life in Mount Weather.

“It is a debt that deserves to be repaid.” Her downcast eyes and bowed head say more than the words: she would have rather fought to the death than to have betrayed her promise to fight with Bellamy.

Lincoln arrives back at the dropship from a hunting trip and checks in with them mid-meeting. The boy lunges forward, blade outstretched towards the larger man’s neck when Echo shouts in the language of the Ice Nation. The words are different than what he’s accustomed to hearing from Lincoln; the words sound sharper, with more pronounced vowels.

“Em ste Trikru!” the boy growls, and Bellamy knows what that means: He’s Trikru.

Clarke slams her hands down on the table, not angry, but she’s unwilling to risk Lincoln’s life. “He is of the Sky People now. He is no longer Trikru.” Her eyes blaze like a roaring fire while simultaneously remaining as cold as the steel blade pressed to Lincoln’s jugular.

“Jayn, stop,” the Ice Nation warrior barks, and her second has no choice but to comply.

“Thank you,” Clarke says, and he hears the breath she was holding escape from her lips as she slumps back down into her seat. “Lincoln, let Harper know what you’ve found.”

After that near debacle ends, everything runs smoothly. As smoothly as possible. Clarke takes charge and argues for land if they win the war in exchange for not aiding the Trikru. In all honesty, they just want to avoid more war. To him, it’s like all they’ve been doing since they landed was fighting. Fighting each other, fighting the grounders, fighting Mount Weather, fighting the seasons. He just wants to relax.

The ongoing negotiations last nearly a week, and his respect for Clarke grows even more than he thought it could. In the end, they decide on trading opportunities whether or not the Ice Clan wins the ongoing battles. Echo decides that if they do win that the Sky People will get to keep their land without the need for traditional arranged marriages. He’s unsure of why she makes it a point to add that stipulation, but a part of him is grateful. He won’t have to see any of his people married off for the sake of the others.

And secretly, he’s glad that he won’t have to either.

Before they leave to fight the war, he stops Echo at the gates. She orders her second to wait for her and suggests that they take a walk. It’s small talk for a few minutes as they weave their way through the verdant forest.

“What is bothering you, Bellamy of the Sky People?”

“Why did you refuse arranged marriages if it’s part of your culture?” He knows that the people living at the dropship would do _anything_ to keep peace, and an arranged marriage would be a small price to pay. Bellamy wants to bite his tongue, curb his curiosity, but the question slips from his lips before he can amend what he should say.

“There are times when cultures need to mix,” the warrior comments sagely as she watches his reaction, “Yet there are times when individual hopes must be cared for as well.”

“What do you mean, individual hopes?”

He notices a small upwards tilt at the corner of her lips before she starts walking back towards the dropship. It’s the same smile that was on Octavia’s face the last time they held a meeting, and he’s hoping it isn’t what he thinks. They say their farewells before the rest of the remaining delinquents, first shaking hands with her second, who apologizes for his earlier behavior. He extends a hand for Echo to shake, and she takes it, pulling him in closer and wrapping her other arm around his back.

The words she whispers are quiet: “She looks at you the same way.”

His involuntary glance back towards Clarke causes him to realize one thing.

He is in love with Clarke Griffin.

 

It’s the midst of summer--a week after the solstice celebration--when they get caught in the crossfire of the warring grounder nations. He takes an arrow to the shoulder, and the only reason his fight hasn’t ended is thanks to Clarke dragging him through the woods and back to the dropship. Of course it’s the following day that the grounders declare the loss of life is too steep for them to continue fighting. Lincoln’s knowledge of poison helps his healing process, and he’s healed by the time the sweltering summer heats have started to fade.

As part of the treaties, Bellamy and Clarke open the gates to the dropship, welcoming the two no longer feuding nations into their home. He stands next to Clarke as she watches with wary eyes as the people trickle in through the entryway. All weapons are left outside of the walls, except for those belonging to the inhabitants.

The first to arrive are those from the Ark. Chancellor Griffin smiles as she weaves through the crowd, greeting former patients and the occasional old friend. Clarke rushes to her mother, pulling the woman into a tight embrace. He glances over to Octavia who rolls her eyes and tilts her head as though Bellamy’s asking for a hug. He smirks back at her--hugs tend to be for life-and-death moments. Raven marches through the gate despite the brace still strapped to her leg. She carries a sling on her back, and it’s only when the cries of an infant resound through camp that he realize that it’s her child. Clarke ushers the now-mother into their cabin, and he waits for the grounders to show. As he waits, he talks to Jasper, who has finally turned around from his brooding. The chemist misses his friends, and cautiously asks if he’d be welcomed back to the dropship. Monty appears from the throng of people, pulling Jasper into a hug. Bellamy shouldn’t have had to worry about their friendship.

The Ice Nation grounders are the first to arrive. He recognizes Echo and Jayn at the front of the crowd, leading the tired and victorious people through the gates. The sound of footsteps, a light but confident step, alerts him to Clarke’s presence without the need to turn around.

The Trigadekru trickle in right after the Ice Nation warriors settle, and Clarke slips a hand into his. The hand is calloused but not sweaty, and she wraps her fingers around his palm as though she’s stabilizing herself. He remembers her recounting what happened with Lexa one night when the bonfire was roaring and moonshine burned through their veins. Squeezing her hand back, he gives her a small smile: _everything will be perfectly fine_.

And it is.

Everyone revels in the peace and treaties, the newfound friendships and abundance of food. It’s nice, he realizes as he looks back at the towering dropship. They’ve come so far in a year.

“Want a drink?” Clarke’s low alto voice cuts through the grounders' fading music and drums.

He hesitates a second, wary of his already buzzing mind, but he takes the mug from her hands anyway. The revelries are finally winding down, and the grounders retreat into makeshift tents. He sits by the campfire, eyes searching the heavens, their former home. Clarke settles next to him, fitting perfectly against his side. They finish the glasses in silence; the only resounding noises are from crackling wood and the inhabitants of the tents and cabins.

Her head falls against his shoulder, and he glances down to see her blue eyes staring back up at him. Her eyes flick to his lips and he smiles. Whether it’s the liquid courage racing through his veins or his emotions finally pushing past the bounds of supposed propriety, he tilts his head lower, pressing his lips against hers. The moment lasts both an eternity and for a fleeting second.

Clarke shifts back, and he opens his eyes to stare at at her face. He messed up, didn’t he?

“Sure as hell took you long enough,” she whispers before kissing him again.

_Yeah_ , he thinks, _everything is going to be alright_.

 

 


End file.
